Harry and the Hag
by lavizsla
Summary: CHAPTER 9 UP! Harry meets a hag. At first, tensions are high between them, but after Harry commits an octuple-homicide, will things lighten up? READ AND REVIEW!
1. The Hag

Harry and the Hag

Chapter 1: The Hag

Harry Potter, a striking youth of around sixteen, had a rather miserable life. Ever since Ron had started experimenting with muggle drugs and subsequently impregnated Hermione, he had felt an ever-broadening gap between him and his trusty comrades. Being a lad of limited interests and social potential, Ron and Hermy had been the centre of Harry's universe; now, Ron was in rehab and Hermy was dead of complications arising from her condition.

One morning, feeling rather dejected with the general state of the world and his life, Harry set out to get himself drunk in Hogsmeade.

It was a downcast grey day. Harry bumbled into the Hog's Head, his head down, looking like a prat.

Inside the bar, Harry drank three litres of butterbeer before passing out at the counter.

Harry soon came to, but he continued to practise an attitude of general malaise, trying to make someone – anyone – take pity on him.

Harry's wish was granted. "Are you alright, ape?" asked a voice. Harry looked up to see a large and hideous she-hag glaring down at him from behind her heinous nose. Harry tried to say "Fine," but he was still too intoxicated to speak. All that he managed to get out was "Unngh." The hag looked down at him in disgust and mumbled something that sounded oddly like, "Overdose..." However, she helped him up to his feet, and told him, "I've got just the thing for drunkards like you."

The hag led Harry out of Hogsmeade and down the road to a portkey station. She glanced up at the schedule, and led Harry over to a rubber tire which was departing in thirty seconds. By this time, Harry had begun to regain control of his mouth. With great effort, he managed to say, "Oh, piss it! I just drank too much butterbeer!" The hag looked pityingly at Harry, and told him, "The first step to recovery is to admit you have a problem. The longer you deny it the longer you will be addicted." Harry gaped at her.

"You don't seriously think that-" His words were cut off by a jerk behind his navel, announcing that the portkey had taken off. Harry was tugged along behind it for a time, and was then slammed to the ground. His knees buckled. The hag, showing surprising strength, caught him before he hit the ground and pulled him to his feet. He would have thanked her if not for the fact that she immediately began violently yanking him down the road.


	2. Rehab

Chapter 2: Rehab

The hag led Harry to a building. Before she pulled him through the door, Harry managed to read the words "Rehabilitation Clinic" engraved on the outer wall.

The hag held a whispered conversation with a witch behind a black desk, whom Harry assumed was the receptionist. After a short while, she turned to Harry, and said, "You're in room 23-A. You share it with another addict, but I'm sure that you'll get along fine." Harry resignedly made his was up a flight of stairs and down the hall until he saw "23-A" embossed upon the door of a room. He pushed open the door, and gasped. Sitting on a bed was Ron, who was smoking something that looked suspiciously like marijuana. Harry entered, expecting Ron to greet him with surprise. However, Ron did not even glance up from his marijuana, for there was now no doubt that that was what it was. Harry realized that Ron was completely high, and that he would not be able to communicate with him, although he wondered how Ron had managed to get a hold on drugs in a rehab clinic. He walked over the the bed which was not occupied by Ron, and lay down on it, making a mental note to question Ron when he was sane. Harry, although he was not too tired, fell asleep breathing in the fumes floating over from Ron's bed.

When Harry awoke, he at first wondered where he was. He looked around the room, saw Ron passed out on the floor, and then recalled all that had happened in the last day. He looked outside to see that it was morning. "Goodness," he thought, "I've slept through the entire afternoon and night." Harry stoop up and stretched. He then walked over to Ron and kicked him in the knee, hard. Ron started, and looked up.

"Harry?" he asked, puzzled.

"Yes, Ron. Now get up off the floor and tell me how you are managing to smoke marijuana in a rehab clinic," Harry said coldly.

Ron stood up shakily, and began, "You'd better not tell the other blokes how I'm doing it, though. They wouldn't let me."

"I promise that I won't," Harry lied. "Now tell me."

"Well," Ron explained, "I've found a secret passage out of the building." When Harry looked inquisitively at him, he continued, "It's in the WC. Now that I think about it, it's sort of like the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Except, you don't need to speak Parseltongue."

"How do you get in, then?" Harry asked Ron.

"I was getting to that. You put your hand on the underside of the leftmost sink and say, 'Exclusively trolls and buttered rolls,'" Ron said slowly. "Then, the sink disappears and there's an opening into the wall."

"How on earth did you figure out what to say!" Harry asked

incredulously.

"I guess I was going a little crazy and just mumbling things randomly when it opened in front of me." Ron admitted. "I worked out which words had opened it and wrote them down on a scrap of parchment so I wouldn't forget." Harry nodded.

Ron then looked at Harry questioningly. "I appreciate that you visited me, but how did you find out where my rehab clinic was? Even Mum doesn't know, not that she cares to." Ron did not look too upset over the fact that his mother did not approve of his antics.

Harry mumbled that he wasn't visiting.

"You're an addict **too**?" Ron whispered.

"No," Harry explained, rolling his eyes. "A hag brought me here. I swear, _**she's** the one who's sixes and sevens!"_

"_So do you need succour for your problem, too?"_ Ron asked, not getting it.

"Stop being a prat!" said Harry. "I don't _**have** a problem!"_

"_Admitting you have a problem is the first step to fixing it," said Ron sagely._

"_Don't make me hex you!" Harry said warningly._

"_They let you keep your wand?" Ron asked in wonder. "They took mine away immediately."_

"_Of course I still have my wand," Harry said indignantly. He felt around in his robe, but was unable to find it. "That's odd." he thought. Suddenly it dawned on him. _

"_Blimey! They must've taken it while I was asleep!" Harry quipped in aggravation._

_Ron chuckled. "Que pena... so now what are you going to do, mate? Admit to your addiction?"_

"_Actually, no; I think I'll head over to the WC and make my way out of here," Harry replied bluntly, turning around and walking to the door._

"_Without your wand?" Ron remarked, his eyebrows raised. Harry glared at him, and asked,_

"_Alright, where do they keep people's wands?"_


	3. Murder

Chapter 3: Murder

Harry silently slipped down the stairs. The receptionist was writing something on a piece of parchment. He looked behind her, to the room where the wands were stored. He jumped as the front door opened. A tall wizard in a long cloak came in. The receptionist looked up, and smiled.

"Hello, Frank." she said cheerfully.

"'Ello!" He replied in a catchy Cockney accent.

While they were talking, Harry crept toward the desk. The receptionist had stood up and was engaged in an animated conversation with Frank. Harry sneaked behind her into the wand room. Once around the corner, he was no longer in the view of the front desk. He let out a sigh of relief, and then began searching through the filing cabinets. They were organised by name, and it was not long before Harry found his wand. Slipping it into his robes, he crept back toward the opening and peeked his head around the corner. Frank was exiting the clinic, leaving the receptionist whistling to herself as she sorted through paperwork. Harry could see no way out without alerting her to his presence. He thought about it for a minute, and finally decided to stun her. He sat against the wall for nearly fifteen minutes, trying to get up his nerve to 'stupify' the witch. Finally, he rounded the corner, drew out his wand, and began:

"Stu-"

Harry was interrupted as the door opened. He dove behind the wall, praying that the receptionist had not heard him begin the stunning spell. He sat for twenty-five minutes, giving his heart a chance to rest. Finally, he got up his nerve once more. He looked around the corner. However, this time he checked outside the building to see if anybody was coming. However, nobody was, so he pointed his wand at the witch. However, in a sudden burst of rage, Harry yelled, "Avada Kadavra!" A flash of green light lit the room with a ghostly glow, and a soft rushing sound filled Harry's ears. Then, the receptionist crumpled into a heap on the floor, dead as a doornail.

Harry stared at what he had done. He had not intended for anyone to die! He glared down at his wand, as if it were somehow **its** fault. Harry simply stood, his wand outstretched, looking down at his feet. He knew he should get out of there. If he was caught, he would be arrested for sure. After all, he had murdered someone! However, while his mind wanted to run, run away and keep running until he could not run any longer, his body would not obey. He told himself over and over to run, hide, move, but he remained frozen in place, a statue at the scene of the crime.

Suddenly, the door opened. Two wizards entered, joking with each other. They looked up and stared. They saw the receptionist on the ground, dead, and Harry, his wand outstretched, looking aghast at his idiocy.

They stared at Harry, horrified. "Shit," remarked Harry.

He pointed his wand at the wizard on the right. "Avada Kadavra!" he bellowed. Once again the room was filled with green light, and the wizard sank to the ground, dead. The other wizard let out a cry of surprise.

"GAH!"

However, he began to show sensibility, and reached for his own wand.

"Oh no you don't, laddie!" Harry shouted, feeling very proud of his clever wit. "Avada Kadavra!" The room was bathed in green light, a whooshing sound reverberated in Harry's ears, and another wizard fell prey to Harry's killing spree.

At this point, Harry was finally able to move again. "Heh heh heh," he chuckled to himself, feeling very proud of the fact that his legs were obeying him. "I'm moving!"

Then he remembered that he had just committed triple homicide. It was off to Azkaban for him for sure!

"Fuck," Harry remarked.

Five more witches and wizards came strolling in.

"No need for that language, chap!" said one, sounding highly affronted.

"Avada Kadavra!" Harry bellowed.

The wizard fell to the ground, dead like the other three.

The other four yanked out their wands and pointed them straight at Harry. "Quadruple homicide, you monster!" breathed one busty witch. "It'll be off to Azkaban with you!"

"No shit, Sherlock," retorted Harry, inwardly congratulating himself yet again on his wit. "Avada Kadavra!"

The witch collapsed onto the ground.

The remaining three wizards and witch finally realised that they ought to be stunning the deranged Harry rather than talking to him.

Tragically, it was too late.

"AvadaKadavraAvadaKadavraAvadaKadavra!" Harry shouted, knocking off one person after another in quick succession.

Hmm. Octuple-homicide. This was going to cost him.

Before anybody else could unwittingly wander into the room, Harry scurried down the hall and into the WC. "Exclusively trolls and buttered rolls!" he cried, putting his hand under the sink.

The sink let out a loud groan. Then it opened wide, revealing a short staircase leading out into the garden.

Harry trotted down the stairs. Behind him, he heard screams.

"Double, triple, quadruple, quintuple, sextuple, septuple," someone was counting "...octuple-homicide! Quickly, alert the authorities! We must commence a man-hunt!"

"Damnation," Harry muttered.

He made his way down into the garden as the staircase closed behind him.


	4. Escape

Chapter 4: Escape

Harry hurriedly made his way into the garden. He glanced around. All around him were exotic plants and shrubs. He looked fearfully at a tall flower that appeared to be eating another of its kind before turning to walk briskly along the cobblestone path toward the gate.

When he reached the gate he heard a commotion outside. He cautiously poked his head out. Nobody appeared to be there, so he stepped out onto the street.

Harry made his way around the side of the building. As he walked, the noises grew louder. He glanced around the corner, and saw that the front of the building was **crawling **with ministry wizards.

"Bullocks," Harry said loudly. He knew it was only a matter of time before the ministry wizards spotted his scruffy head sticking out from behind the wall.

"I must go on the lam!" Harry remarked to himself. "My first task is to find somewhere to hide out. Let's see... who do I know who would be willing to harbour a fugitive?"

His thoughts drifted to the hag of the night before. "Perhaps the hag will welcome me in," Harry mused.

He set off toward the nearest portkey station. The ministry wizards were all preoccupied with moaning and groaning and saying, "This chap is most certainly dangerous, mates! When we find him, take care!"

Harry chuckled to himself. He was evading capture.

At the portkey station, Harry spoke to the station attendant.

"Hello," he said. "I am on the run in lieu of committing an octuple-homicide. Would you please arrange for me a portkey to the house of a hag I know?"

The station attendant, a sweet-looking young thing with limp brown hair and blue eyes, gaped at Harry.

Harry inwardly congratulated himself on having successfully used the word "lieu" in a sentence. It was a term he had always wanted to utilize.

"Are you going to help me or not, she-beast?" Harry asked.

The little girl's eyes filled with tears. She was quivering. "I... er... I..."

Harry gave her a warning look. "Don't make me commit nontuple-homicide," he said. Harry wasn't sure if "nontuple" was a real word. To clarify, he added, "You know, like killing nine people... the ninth being you!"

Next, Harry let out an evil cackle. He couldn't help himself.

The girl was petrified.

Harry pulled out his wind. "Avada!" he shouted.

"GAH!" shrieked the girl.

Harry laughed heartily. "Don't be daft!" he chuckled. "I wouldn't kill **you**... yet... heheheh... just kidding..."

Harry paused for a moment. "Right... anyway, I didn't say 'Kadavra,' so you're still alive... **yet**!"

The girl looked at him, obviously confused.

Harry realised he had been less than eloquent. "Shoot... I meant, 'you're still alive... but not for long!'"

The girl still looked puzzled.

Harry frowned in concentration. "Er... look, whatever... just get me a portkey to the hag's house and we'll never mention this little incident again," he commanded.

The girl nodded quickly and scurried over to the counter.

Harry chuckled to himself. "I am so persuasive," he murmured, quite pleased with his performance.

The girl managed to locate the hag's property. She prepared a portkey and handed it to Harry, who grabbed it eagerly. "Thank you for your help, broad!" he shouted.

The portkey, however, took a minute to activate, so after Harry's clever concluding statement he and the girl looked at one another in silence for another forty-five seconds.

Harry felt that he was falling in love with the girl. He noticed her large blue eyes, the mole on her neck, and her scraggly rat-coloured hair.

The girl was completely terrified. She was afraid this deranged lunatic was going to murder her before leaving.

As the girl opened her mouth in a miserable sob of fear, Harry said, "I love you!"

The portkey activated just then, and Harry was carried away, the image of the girl burning brightly in his heart.


	5. The Return of the Hag

Chapter 5: The Return of the Hag

Harry appeared outside of the Hag's house. It was a small, ugly dwelling on the outskirts of a large forest. Harry brushed off his jeans and walked solemnly up the front walk to the door. He knocked briskly. "Hello!" he called obnoxiously.

The door swung open magically of its own accord. Harry was stymied. Obviously he was dealing with somebody way out of his class. "ENTER, WENCH!" bellowed a voice from within. Harry gulped and realised that this was the hag's voice.

"No shit," he thought to himself, rolling his eyes and feeling very clever.

"Stop being a prat!" the Hag shouted at him. Evidently it could see through walls.

"I'm... I'm sorry!" Harry whimpered, his coolness dissolving.

The Hag stepped forward. As it turned out, she had been standing just beyond the doorway, but Harry, with his less-than-perfect vision, had not noticed.

"GAH!" Harry shrieked in alarm.

The Hag chuckled. "No need for you to be alarmed... yet!"

Harry quickly retorted with the previously-successful line of, "Don't make me commit nontuple homicide! You know, like killing nine people... the ninth being-"

"I know what you mean, idiot," the Hag replied, rolling her ugly hag eyes. She then turned to stare at him in horror. "You've killed **eight** people?"

Harry realised that he probably should not have told the hag this. "Um... maybe," he answered, glancing around furtively and looking very, very suspicious.

The Hag looked disgusted. "What the devil were you thinking, dumb ass?" she asked. "And what the bloody hell are you doing here?"

Harry looked up at her. He did not want to admit that he had hoped the Hag would offer him asylum. Harry whipped out his wand and bellowed, "Expelliarmus!" The Hag, who wasn't holding anything, raised one eyebrow at him. "Oh, shit," Harry remarked. "What I meant was, 'Avada Kedav-'"

Before he could finish, the Hag yanked his wand out of his hand and broke it in half.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Harry screamed.

The Hag slapped him quickly across the face. "It's off to Azkaban with you, you emotionally unstable lunatic," she chuckled.

Harry panicked. "Wait!" he moaned. "Please, grant me asylum!"

The Hag looked at him in disbelief. "What, after you tried to murder me?" she asked, laughing in amusement at Harry's naiveté.

Harry swallowed uncomfortably. He had forgotten about that little incident. "PLEASE!" he pleaded. "I will stay here and do slave labor for you, oh wondrous hag!"

For a split second, Harry thought that his wish would be granted. However, the Hag merely chuckled. "Nah, the reward I would merit from turning you in would buy me a hundred slaves!"

Harry did not believe her. "Bull shit," he replied. "I'm not **that** wanted."

Just then, an owl trailing a banner flew by. The banner read, "WANTED: THE-BOY-WHO-LIVED. REWARD: WELL, LET'S JUST SAY IT'S ENOUGH GALLEONS TO BUY 100 SLAVES." This was followed by a large picture of Harry, smiling cheekily.

Harry noticed the banner and frowned, embarrassed.

"You are an imbecile," the Hag remarked.

Another owl swooped down just then, "The Daily Prophet" in its beak.

The Hag took the paper and paid the bird. She then unfolded the paper, revealing a large headline which read, "Boy-Who-Lived Suspect in Octuple-Homicide." Below were picture of the victims, as well as of Harry, still grinning cheekily.

"Let me see that," Harry snapped.

The Hag glared at him. "Son of a bitch," she remarked. "Treat me with respect!"

"Fine," Harry mumbled. "I'm sorry, you Hag."

"Please, call me Haggis," she said kindly.

"I think this is the start of a great friendship!" said Harry eagerly.

"It is **not**, you fool!" the Hag retorted, handing the paper over.

Harry glanced quickly over the article. Then he saw a related piece, an interview with a girl who had arranged Harry's portkey.

"Haggis Plutarch, attendant at the Portkey Station in Derby, was reportedly threatened by the Boy-Who-Lived. Miss Plutarch managed to avoid possible death by providing Potter with a portkey per his command."

"Fuck," Harry mumbled. "Now they'll know where I am."

"However, Miss Plutarch has been unable to remember exactly where she sent Potter, as she was completely terrified at the time and has thus forgotten much of the incident as a method of overcoming the severe psychological trauma."

"Wait, never mind," Harry corrected himself. "I traumatized her too much; she's forgotten were she sent me... heheheh."

Then Harry noticed the accompanying mug shot of the girl. He sighed with longing. She was so lovely... her mousy hair hanging limply about her slender face, her large blue eyes sad and delicate...

"What's up with you?" the Hag asked.

Harry blinked a few times, enraptured. Then he said, "I am in love."

The Hag rolled her eyes. "With whom, may I ask?"

"Um..." Harry scanned the page. "Oh, yes, Haggis Plutarch... she has the same first name as you; go figure."

"Well, it **is **a lovely name," the Hag remarked idly. She suddenly snapped out of it and stared at Harry. "Hang on a tick, did you just say Haggis **Plutarch**?"

Harry checked the page again and then said, "Yeah."

"Why, that's my god-daughter!" the Hag informed him cheerfully. "She's named after me!"

"She's your **god-daughter**?" Harry asked, aghast at how he had threatened the Hag earlier. "And I threatened you earlier? Blimey, I'm so sorry for my behavior!" He paused for a moment and asked hopefully, "Say, now that I'm in love with your god-daughter, do you think you could grant me asylum for a while? You know, until I either leave the country or die of old age?"

The Hag wasn't really listening to the intricacies of the situation, but she was a hopeless romantic, and so she replied, "Sure."


	6. Slavery

Chapter 6: Slavery

Harry found that he liked being enslaved. He did all of the hag's chores around her hovel: cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry, bathing the hag (which he found somewhat arousing), and working in the garden and flowerbeds.

Every morning an owl delivered the "Daily Prophet," and Harry was disturbed to see that the manhunt for him had, if anything, increased in magnitude. "Boy-Who-Lives Still Evading Capture," read one headline. "Potter Thwarts Ministry Attempts," read another. When the Hag read these headlines, she chuckled sadistically and said things like,

"Maybe I ought to turn you in... says here I'd get" - she checked the paper quickly - "1,000 slaves with the reward they'd pay me!" Harry would quake in his boots and turn a translucent white colour; he was terrified.

"Teehee," the Hag would cackle. "I can see your innards when you go all translucent like that."

Harry, embarrassed, would turn a lurid tomato colour. The Hag would laugh heartily and say,

"Don't worry; I won't turn you in... yet!"

"Oh good," Harry would reply, his fears temporarily assuaged.

And so, the days dragged on. One morning, while Harry was pondering the legality of his enslaved status, he decided that the Hag could not be keeping him as a drudge under Commonwealth law. He marched up to the Hag and, feeling very proud of his wit, said, "In lieu of the fact that slavery is illegal under Commonwealth law, I am here to inform you, Haggis, that I am going to go to the bobbies and turn you in if you do not either grant me liberty or start paying me!" Inwardly, Harry congratulated himself on having successfully used the word "lieu" in a sentence yet again.

The Hag chuckled and shook her hideous head in amusement at Harry's inanity.

"Right," she said sarcastically, rolling her beady eyes. "You just march on down to the Constable and tell him that you, a mass-murderer the whole EU is after, are not receiving humane treatment from the Hag kindly enough to grant you asylum." She gave a mirthless laugh.

Harry didn't get it.

"You just watch me," he said haughtily. "I'll go and talk to this Constable and **then** you'll be sorry, Haggis!"

And with that, he set off across the front garden toward the nearby village, leaving the Hag rolling her eyes in his wake.


	7. Haggis Plutarch

Chapter 7: Haggis Plutarch

As Harry made his way across the deserted moor that lay between the Hag's residence and the nearest village, he talked wittily to himself.

"Silly old bird, thinking she can trick me out of an obvious course of action through sarcasm! Hah! She doesn't stand a chance against my clever wit!" He gave a haughty chuckled.

Harry then caught sight of a person coming along the worn footpath through the moor in the opposite direction. The person's head was down, so Harry could not see their face. However, something about the person's outline was familiar to Harry, and he felt a sudden flame of passion in his chest as he realised that this person was -

"Haggis Plutarch!" Harry cried, grasping his chest as a ferocious longing ripped through him.

The person looked up, and Harry felt tears of rapture come to his eyes as he recognised the limp hair, the sad blue eyes, the protuberant mole.

Haggis Plutarch recognised Harry, too. Her mouth dropped open and she let loose a terrified shriek. "GAH!"

Rushing forward, his heart beating more and more quickly until is was making a continuous buzz in his chest cavity, Harry, who suddenly found himself speaking in iambic pentameter, cried out, "My love for you, sweet Haggis, has no bounds!"

Haggis Plutarch screamed again. "GAH! GAH! GAH!"

Harry ran up to her and put his hands on her slender, hunched shoulders, trying desperately to calm this angel, this one true love of his life.

"It is alright; I never will harm you!" Harry cried, still in iambic pentameter.

Haggis looked up at him, her innocent blue eyes wide in shock. She began to hyperventilate, finally choking out, "Oh please! Do not... do not... do not... hurt... me!" She, too, was speaking in iambic pentameter. Harry took this as a sign that they were meant to be together.

"Oh!" he cried, his body flooded with emotion. He kissed Haggis tenderly on the lips.

"GAH!" she screamed. She then continued in iambic pentameter, "The Boy-Who-Lived is raping me! Help, help!"

Harry was aghast. "You would turn me in?" he asked, shocked. "I thought our love was ever-lasting!" He was no longer using iambic pentameter.

Haggis Plutarch, however, had fainted. Harry caught her in his arms, which were strengthened from all of the slave labor he had been performing for the hag, and began to drag her roughly back toward the Hag's house, all plans for reporting his abysmal work conditions forgotten.

All the way up the deserted moor Harry dragged her. He soon felt his strength lessening, but love kept him going. Finally, he reached the Hag's house, where said Hag came rushing out of the front door with a cry of, "What the fuck did you do to my god-daughter!"

"Not nearly as much as I wanted to," Harry replied slyly, giving the Hag a naughty wink.

"GAH!" the Hag shrieked. "PERVERT! Get to the cupboard under the stairs; I'm locking you in until I can trust you around my Haggis!"

Hanging his head in dismay, Harry slowly made his way into the house and under the stairs, where the Hag locked him in with a grumble of, "Filthy little boy, trying to shag a decent, kindly girl like Haggis... he'll pay for this, oh how he will..."

"I didn't try to shag her!" Harry cried in protest. "She fainted too quickly! I'm not **that** much of a pervert!"

He heard the Hag roar in annoyance. "GAH!"

Then she shouted, "No food for a month! If you get hungry, eat Hedwig!"

Harry turned to look at Hedwig, who was glaring at him from a corner. "Don't look at me like that," Harry complained. He slid one hand over to her to caress her juicy owl drumsticks. "I'll eat you if I need to, bird. Now shut up and lay some eggs!"

Hedwig glared at him reproachfully for another minute and then obliged, dropping a large, round egg out of her owl vent. Harry seized the egg and devoured it raw.

"WHOO! WHOO!" Hedwig quipped in rage, flying at Harry with her talons outstretched.

"GAH!" Harry shouted, ducking and kicking her in aggravation.

Upstairs, the Hag had placed Haggis Plutarch in bed and was applying a cold compress to her face. Slowly, Haggis opened her sorrowful blue eyes and looked up at her god-mother.

"Hello, dear," said the Hag, with a matronly air about her. "How are you feeling?"

"Alright, I guess... a bit tired," Haggis replied quietly. She sat up in bed to look around. "But, god-mother... how did I get here?" she asked, surprised. "Last I remember, that boy... GAH!" suddenly remembering, Haggis fainted in terror once more.

The Hag pursed her lips in annoyance. She loved Haggis Plutarch dearly, but she could really be a bit of a drama queen when she got going.

A loud crash echoed through the house as Harry and Hedwig slammed one another against the walls of the cupboard-under-the-stairs in epic battle. The Hag shook her head and banged loudly on the stairs with a broom handle. "Shut up down there!" she bellowed. "If you want to kill one another, do it quietly! My god-daughter is trying to rest!"

Harry was immediately silenced; he would never do anything to cause Haggis Plutarch grief or inconvenience. Hedwig, however, took advantage of Harry's momentary pacifism to rake his face with her talons, leaving him with yet another unsightly scar.

"Gah," Harry remarked quietly. He was exercising enormous self-control to insure that his love would sleep undisturbed.

Hedwig retreated to a corner, where she proceeded to think dark thoughts about how to solve this Harry problem.

Seeing that a momentary truce was in order, Harry began rooting around in the cupboard-under-the-stairs for grubs and insects to fry up with the owl.


	8. Hedwig's Grudge

Chapter 8: Hedwig's Grudge

As the Hag went in to check on the frail Haggis Plutarch that evening, she was pleased to see that the lass looked far less wan than she had earlier in the day. "How are you feeling, dear?" the Hag asked kindly.

"I'm alright," admitted Haggis, who was beginning to stir.

The Hag placed her hands resolutely on her bony hag hips and said, "Now, love, I know this may be a difficult subject for you, but you need to tell me everything the, er, 'Boy-Who-Lived' did to you."

Haggis whimpered slightly and buried her face in her hands. "He... came up to me," she whispered. "Spoke to me... in... in... OH!" She let out a loud sob of distress, but then sniffled, wiped her small nose, and continued, "...in iambic pentameter. I... I think I responded in iambic pentameter as well... it all happened so quickly! And then... then... he **kissed **me! And I was terrified; I cried out for help in, I assume, iambic pentameter-"

"What the bloody hell is 'iambic pentameter?'" the Hag asked, bored already.

"Oh, it's what Shakespeare used to write his plays," Haggis Plutarch explained, her eyebrows raised in surprise at her god-mother's lack of knowledge.

"Who the bloody hell is Shakespeare?" the Hag persisted dully.

"Oh, he was a play-write," Haggis Plutarch said, still looking surprised. "Well, actually, I suppose a horrid fiend like you probably wouldn't know about sophisticated things like that..."

"Too true, too true," the Hag agreed cheerfully.

Haggis Plutarch smiled with her pale, thin lips. "Yes, well... anyway, 'iambic pentameter' is, by definition, where you have a ten-syllable line with the accent on alternating syl-"

"Yes, yes, fine," the Hag interrupted. "Good lord, child, I don't actually care; don't be a prat!"

Haggis Plutarch smiled again. She loved her cold-hearted god-mother dearly.

In the cupboard under the stairs, Hedwig was growing increasingly resentful of Harry's persistent comments of, "Oh come on, Hedwig... it'll only hurt for a moment... that moment being, you know, the part where I break your hollow-boned bird neck. And after that..." a dreamy look came across his face "... after that, I'll fry you up with a little oregano and lemon juice and perhaps some thyme... or maybe just these beetles from the floor; after all"- he said with a wry smile -"beggars can't be choosers!"

Hedwig glared at him. "Whoo," she replied curtly.

Harry started to inch his way toward her, his hands outstretched. "Now come on, bird... I'm not going to hurt you... well, technically, that's not true, but still..."

"WHOOOO!" Hedwig screeched, flapping her wings in aggravation.

"Damn you, you filthy fowl!" Harry cried. He then chuckled to himself, "Heheheh... 'filthy fowl'... it's alliterative... heheheh... I am very clever..."

Hedwig rolled her round owl eyes.

Harry was still chuckling about his wit. "Teehee... and 'fowl' rhymes with 'owl'... talk about your double entendres!"

Hedwig was dying to tell him that this was not exactly the definition of 'double entendres'; she opened her beak, but the only thing she could get out was, "WHOOO! WHOOO!"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Don't talk back to me, you great feathered lump!"

Hedwig stared at him penetratingly for a few moments before looking away. She heard Harry mutter, more to himself than to her, "Don't worry, my pretty... just fall asleep, now... heheheh, I'll get her when she's sleeping, oh, how I will!"

Hedwig rolled her enormous eyes again. Harry seemed to have forgotten that she was nocturnal; as nighttime fell, he looked at her in annoyance and remarked, "Good grief... how do you stay awake so long?"

Hedwig deigned to answer.

Harry soon fell asleep on the floor. Hedwig saw her chance and swooped down to peck out his eyes.

"GAH!" Harry screamed, sitting up. "Oh, Hedwig, I just had the most terrifying dream! I dreamed an owl – GAH!" Hedwig had flown at his face once more.

Stage two of their epic battle soon commenced. Hedwig and the Boy-Who-Lived threw one another against the walls of the cupboard-under-the-stairs and tried to gouge one another with talon and nail.

The racket was so immense that Haggis Plutarch, who had been sleeping upstairs, awoke. She lay in bed listening to the sounds of the fight:

"GET OFF, YOU DAMN BIRD! GET OFF!"

"WHOOOOOOOO! WHOOOOOOOO!"

"GAH! TALONS!"

"WHOOO!"

"GAH!"

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"YES! HAHA, I HAVE YOU NOW, BIRD!"

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"GAH! IT'S STILL ALIVE!"

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"WHO!"

"HEDWIG, BE REASONABLE! YOU WOULD TASTE SO DELICIOUS!

DON'T YOU WANT TO MAKE YOUR MASTER PROUD!"

"FUCK OFF, BOY!"

At this last completely unexpected and unfeasible comment from Hedwig, Haggis sat up in bed. She was filled with a longing so intense that she did not understand how she hadn't felt it before. Haggis felt complete and utter love for Harry Potter. Also, she felt a desire for owl meat.

Forgetting all pretenses, Haggis rushed past the door of her sleeping god-mother and down the stairs, not stopping until she was at the door of the cupboard. Grabbing the key from where it hung on a nail, as well as a hunting rifle from on top of the mantle, she unlocked the door.

A great cloud of feathers and dust burst forth. "GAH – WHAT THE-" Harry began, but stopped as he saw Haggis Plutarch, the love of his life, take careful aim and shoot Hedwig through the head. The bird fell, stunned, to the cupboard floor as Harry, awash with shock, stared at Haggis. The girl brushed off her shoulders like a pimp and turned to look at him. The two then ran to one another and began to snog.

Meanwhile, Hedwig slowly bled to death.


	9. In Which Hedwig is Consumed

Chapter 9: In Which Hedwig is Consumed

As Harry and Haggis Plutarch locked lips in a disturbing display of hormones gone mad, Hedwig let out a feeble, "_Whoooo..._" from the floor. There were so many things she had not yet achieved in her pathetic bird life! Hedwig had never raised a nest of owlets, she had never carried off a baby ram, and she had never raked out anybody's eyeballs (not that she hadn't tried on that damnéd Potter boy). All in all, her life had been something of a pitiful waste.

Hedwig let out a sigh as her oxygen-starved brain slowly shut down. "Good-bye, cruel world," she thought dully, her eight brain cells working overtime.

Haggis noticed that Hedwig was no longer breathing and that her eyes had glazed over. "Oh, Harry! My love! The great feathered brute has passed on at last! Shall we cook her, Harry?"

Harry unlocked himself from Haggis's collar bone, where he had been passionately applying a hickie, and glanced over at the lifeless fowl.

He took in the limp feathers, the blood-stained beak, the dull eyes. He dropped to the floor beside Hedwig and prodded her corpse with Haggis's wand, which the lovely girl (bless her heart) had left on the hall table.

"You were my first friend..." Harry murmured pensively, gazing down at Hedwig's small cadaver. Then he grinned wickedly and continued, "...and you sure are going to taste delicious! Ha ha ha! Take that, you dumb bird! I **won**!"

Hedwig's spirit looked down on the Boy-Who-Lived from the Great Nest in the Sky and felt an irresistible urge to shit on him.

Haggis crouched beside Harry to examine Hedwig's dead body. Harry prodded Hedwig with Haggis's wand a few more times. To his immense surprise, she caught fire!

"GAH!" Harry exclaimed.

Haggis chuckled and reclaimed her wand, dousing Hedwig with a spout of water.

The dead bird was now giving off the lovely aroma of grilled owl flesh. Haggis and Harry's stomachs rumbled.

"We just need some herbs," Harry muttered to himself, "and perhaps some lemon or white wine..."

"My hag-mother has all of that out in the garden," said Haggis cheerfully. "We can go outside and-" Harry silenced her with a passionate kiss. He pinned her to the wall and the two of them began to snog again.

Upstairs, the Hag awoke from a deep slumber, having heard some inexplicable sound in the night (it sounded suspiciously like, "GAH!"). She got out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown. Then she made her way out of her bedroom to go and check on Haggis.

Haggis was not in her bed! Fearing the worst, the Hag charged down the staircase and into the hallway below it. To her horror and fury, she saw Haggis pinned helplessly against the wall by the Boy-Who-Lived, who was now attempting to rip her clothing off without un-gluing himself from her thin, pale lips!

"GAH!" the Hag bellowed, running at Harry. She was **livid**! She had fucking **taken in** that insolent little brat and now he was trying to **rape** her god-daughter... AGAIN!

"PERVET! APE! FILTHY SON OF A SOW AND A CRAWDAD!" the Hag shrieked, using her best insults.

At her last invective, Harry pulled his mouth away from Haggis's and turned to stare at the Hag, fury evident in his face. "My mum was **not** a sow," he said, deathly quiet, "nor was my dad a crawdad."

"Don't worry, Harry, don't start any-" Haggis began, but Harry did not listen to her.

"You know **your** mum?" Harry challenged the Hag.

The Hag was bewildered. What was wrong with this child?

"Well, no, actually," the she admitted. "I ate her when I was very young..."

Harry looked taken aback. "Oh... " However, he recovered his composure quickly, and continued, "You know that look she's got? Like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because **you** were with her?" He stood back to watch the effect of his clever wit. He had used this line before, with that git, Draco Malfoy, and it had worked exceedingly well.

The Hag looked even more confused. "What the fuck are you talking about, boy?" she asked. She then shook that off and charged toward him. "...And what the fuck were you doing to Haggis! Haggis, get upstairs to bed! And you, slave... I'm calling the authorities on you!"

"WHAT!" Harry cried, aghast. "You **can't**! I've been convicted of octuple homicide! I'll go to Azkaban for sure!"

The Hag smiled, bemused. "Ah, yes, I'd forgotten that you were a mass murderer... well, I suppose you'll just have to atone for your crimes then, won't you?"

"Hag-mother!" Haggis Plutarch interrupted, sounding very disturbed and worried. "You can't send Harry away! It wasn't just **him**, Haggie; it was me, too! We're in love, Haggie! I **let** him do what he was doing just now!"

The Hag stared at her god-daughter in shock mingled with horror. "You **like** this shrimpy prat?" she asked mockingly. "For the love of humanity, Haggis, you're a perfectly lovely young girl! Why waste your life on a git like this?"

"I can't help my feelings!" Haggis pronounced passionately, and Harry took her slender, blue-veined hand and held it close.

The Hag stared at the two of them in unflattering disbelief. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Haggis and Harry held hands defiantly. Then Harry stupidly decided to take it a bit further: he pushed Haggis back against the wall, started snogging her again, and slid his hand under her nightgown.

"GAH!" the Hag screamed. "Haggis! Don't let him – HAGGIS!"

Haggis was immensely enjoying being felt up by the Boy-Who-Lived. No human male had ever treated her this way before. (Emphasis on "human" and "male," but let's not go there just yet.)

The Hag had turned the colour of a very angry hag.

"POTTER!" she hissed. "STOP TOUCHING MY GOD-DAUGHTER THIS INSTANT!"

Still being defiant, Harry stripped off his shirt and dropped it on the floor.

This was a very idiotic thing to do. The Hag grabbed her god-daughter's wand and pointed it at the shirt, which burst into flames and was quickly incinerated.

"Damn," Harry swore, glancing down at the remains of the only shirt he owned. He was feeling rather sheepish.

The Hag turned to face Harry. She grabbed him about the shoulders and ripped him from Haggis's arms. He fell roughly on the wooden floor, next to Hedwig's mangled corpse.

"GAH!" Harry exclaimed in shock.

"Harry!" Haggis squealed, dropping to the ground next to him and putting her hands on his shoulders supportively.

"BACK, HAGGIS!" the Hag cried, aiming the wand straight at Harry's heart. "I'm going to get rid of this one once and for all!"

"NO! God-mother, DON'T!" Haggis cried, throwing herself in front of Harry protectively.

"STAND ASIDE, YOU SILLY GIRL! STAND ASIDE!" the Hag ordered threateningly, brandishing the wand.

"NO! NOT HARRY! PLEASE! I'LL DO ANYTHING!" Haggis pleaded, beginning to sob.

Harry chuckled despite himself. "Dejà vu," he chortled.

The Hag and Haggis both rolled their eyes. "Shut up; this doesn't concern you," Haggis told Harry, annoyed. Then she turned back to the Hag and continued, "JUST TAKE ME! KILL ME INSTEAD!"

"FINE, BITCH! Good lord..." the Hag pointed her wand at Haggis and shouted, "Avada Kadavra!"

Harry screamed like a woman as Haggis collapsed onto the ground amidst a rush of wind and a flash of green light.


End file.
